[ Red blossoms behind his eyes as the sword digs in deeper, cutting through flesh and towards his organs, the continued force of impact (and newly added force of Dextera's weight behind it all) enough to finally topple him over, Eustace collapsing ungracefully onto his side with another grunt of pain. One knife clatters out of his hand, landing on the ground some feet away.
But in some ways, the determination behind the blow is reassuring. It means he can fight as usual if they're both giving it their all, regardless of what their relationship had been before now. He doesn't want to kill Dextera but neither does he want to die, the animalistic instinct in him burning still with the desire to live.
Despite the pain that suffuses his entire body, he continues to order his muscles to move, his now free hand propping him half up on the ground so he can swing his other hand, the one still clutching a blade, towards whatever part of Dextera is closet. The movement's shaky, unguided, an action born out of self-defense rather than the need to destroy and kill. ]
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But in some ways, the determination behind the blow is reassuring. It means he can fight as usual if they're both giving it their all, regardless of what their relationship had been before now. He doesn't want to kill Dextera but neither does he want to die, the animalistic instinct in him burning still with the desire to live.
Despite the pain that suffuses his entire body, he continues to order his muscles to move, his now free hand propping him half up on the ground so he can swing his other hand, the one still clutching a blade, towards whatever part of Dextera is closet. The movement's shaky, unguided, an action born out of self-defense rather than the need to destroy and kill. ]